


Weight

by Valaxiom



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Missing Scene, Post-Recall, Regret, Reinhardt is Brigitte's weird adopted dad, Team as Family, We don't know much about her aside from the comic, i guess?, nothing distracting, so this has some really minor headcanons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-26 09:35:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7569127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valaxiom/pseuds/Valaxiom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years after Overwatch's official shutdown, Reinhardt is still fighting for the ones who need it the most. No matter how hopeless it seems at times, someone must defend the innocent... even if the futility of his self-imposed task is all too obvious at times. If only he had his old team back to fight at his side. </p>
<p>Takes place after the "Dragon Slayer" comic and immediately after the "Recall" animated short.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Weight

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I haven't posted much for a few days because of work, but I finally cleaned up this one-shot feat. Reinhardt. 
> 
> Reinhardt is the Team Grandpa and is completely lost without all of his grandkids. He just adopts random people (Brigitte) when he's no longer a part of Overwatch, so it's a good thing that the gang's getting back together. Honestly, by recalling Overwatch Winston probably saved a bunch of random kids from being dragged around Europe to fight for the power of friendship.
> 
> Also, it's armoUr, not armor. Stupid spellcheck. 
> 
> (Possible trigger warning: there is a suicide mention, but it's very minor and no action is taken to follow the thought)

The weight of his armour had never bothered him, not really. When he stood upright, Reinhardt was over seven feet of pure muscle. The alloys used in its construction had been designed to be both sturdy, lightweight, and capable of taking a heavy beating. It covered him from foot to toe, much like the Arthurian knights of European lore. In a combat situation his barrier field could take the brunt of any attack, thus reducing the powered armour to a mere precaution; Reinhardt had mysteriously gone deaf to the attempts made by Overwatch’s various engineers to upgrade or flat-out discard his old suit.

Back during Overwatch’s golden days, Torbjorn had been one of his fiercest critics. Every time he patched up Reinhardt’s battleworn armour, he’d grumble about adding some modern touches or software augmentations. Sometimes he did, but never without explaining exactly what was being changed or powered up. Reinhardt had trusted his friend without reservations, and even after his forced retirement from active duty, he’d still been able to keep in touch and occasionally secure a maintenance session for his Crusader armour.

Not that they’d been able to catch up for a few years. Overwatch’s former agents were well-known and publicly disgraced. It was better to stay in the shadows and do the best that they could for the innocent away from the harsh gaze of the media. Public transport, communications, even getting supplies had all become risky. Overwatch had made many enemies. Some were obvious- terrorists, criminals, gangs. Others... were not. Reinhardt had been forced to watch from the sidelines as the organization he’d given the best part of his life to be torn apart by infighting and corruption. To this day, it was hard for him to believe that Reyes and Morrison had intentionally destroyed the Swiss HQ with the sole goal of murdering each other out of jealousy or mistrust. It just didn't fit. Those idiots had been best friends, rumoured as lovers. There had to have been something rotten within the ranks, something that went even deeper than Blackwatch.

He may have been just an old man who couldn’t let go of the past, but Reinhardt had too many questions to sleep easily at night.

He would have asked Morrison why he’d turned a blind eye to Blackwatch for so long.

He would have asked Ana why she hesitated to take that shot.

He would have asked Angela if she’d perfected that resurrection procedure.

He would have asked Reyes if it was worth it, to tear down everything their family had worked for out of childish bitterness.

So many questions, but anyone who could have answered them was long gone- dead, or in hiding, or just out of touch. It broke Reinhardt's heart a little bit, when he thought of how broken their team (family) had become. 

Living out a nomadic existence on the outskirts of Europe, Reinhardt felt the weight of his armour more keenly than ever. He may not have been a young man anymore, but retirement would never suit him. Until the day he was unable to stand, he was going to fight. He was going to die in battle or not at all. Courage, honour, and justice were his moral compasses now, not the oblique mission directives from faceless UN officials.

Although, for the first time in his long, long life, Reinhardt was tired. The scope of his self-imposed quest was daunting, even in the wake of his resounding victory over the Dragon gang. Cleaning out every corrupt, frightened village in the area would take a team of dozens years, let alone one old man, a suit of outdated armour, and an overly-optimistic young woman.

Brigitte had been a godsend, honestly. With Torbjorn off in the east, disassembling the rogue Titan-class mechs that were still a threat to humanity, Reinhardt had been without a capable metalsmith for too long. He’d picked up the girl in one of many nameless, dreary, pre-fab villages which dotted the desolate ruins of Germany. She’d been a bright spark in a town of grey, and she’d been raised on tales of heroes. Granted, all of the tales she’d heard were propaganda, and all of the heroes she’d worshiped had been painfully, humanly flawed, but she’d been more than willing to go off with a borderline-stranger on the mere promise of doing good in a world where good was hard to find. Reinhardt wasn’t sure if that decision made her crazy, but it certainly reminded him of himself in his younger days. Her relentless hopefulness, even when tempered with caution, was a rarity these days.

Even when he was out of his armour, the weight remained. For a few years, he was able to write it off as old age. The inevitable. It happened to everyone, after all-

(But not Ana)

(Or Jack)

(Or Gabe)

(Or Gerard)

-so why should he be exempt? The years had certainly taken their toll upon him. Reinhardt was covered in scars and old battle wounds that even Mercy’s nanobots couldn’t fully erase. From his early days as a soldier for his country, to his time as a member of Overwatch, Reinhardt had never slowed down. He had preferred to charge into battle and face his enemies head-on. Reinhardt had no time or patience for subtlety or politics. Perhaps that was why he’d been so powerless to halt Overwatch’s slow descent into shame- there had been hints of the scope of the damage, but Reinhardt had never been good at reading the fine print. By getting him out of the way, the shadowy catalysts for Overwatch’s complete dismantlement had removed one of the organizations most invulnerable shields.

For this, for his blindness, he felt guilty. Even after all of Mercy’s assurances that the conflict and ensuing fallout had been unavoidable, Reinhardt still blamed himself. If he had been at the base that day, maybe he could have helped. Or he could have been blown up along with two of the Overwatch agents he had respected the most.

Reinhardt was only human, for all of his legendary power and skill. When his cause was feeling particularly hopeless, or when he reflected for too long upon the past and his failures, his mind went to dark places. When he couldn’t sleep for days, that was one of the thoughts that would sometimes whisper to him. _Wouldn't it have been better to die gloriously in battle, before becoming this broken shell?_ He’d shove it away stubbornly- there was still so much more for him to do, still too many people suffering, and if he still had the potential to improve even one person’s life through his own actions, well, wouldn’t it be selfish of him to take the coward’s way out?

Besides, Brigitte would be alone again, and he refused to be responsible for that. If Reinhardt had ever had children, he would have wanted a daughter like Brigitte. He saw her as a worthy successor to his fight, and if Overwatch had still been operational, he had no doubt that she could have rivaled Torbjorn for technical expertise. She would have made a stellar agent.

The area of Greenland they were currently adventuring in had been chosen specifically for its seclusion and quiet. They needed somewhere to rest up after that encounter in the village, and while it may have been a bit chilly, at least no one was shooting at them. Brigitte had been tinkering with the Crusader armour for the last day and a half, while Reinhardt had enjoyed the scenery. He’d even gone fishing, and caught last night’s dinner for them. Fish may not have been as good as currywurst, but when it was freshly-caught and grilled over a campfire, it was a close competitor.

The evening was lovely- all light breezes and the remnants of a sunset highlighting the sky with gold. The weight, the ever-present weight of his failures and lost friends and endless quest, was heavy upon his chest, but he could ignore it in favour of the truly spectacular sunset.

At least, until he heard Brigitte let out a startled yelp from inside their caravan. He heard a sudden buzz of static and a familiar voice, and barreled towards the little van.

Inside, Brigitte was staring in awe at a hologram of the Overwatch logo coming from the Crusader armour’s communications display. The words “RECALL” were blinking in bright red, along with a notification from Winston.

“Impossible...” whispered Reinhardt.

“Overwatch was shut down permanently by the United Nations. Isn’t this illegal? Outlawed by the Petras Act?” asked Brigitte. Wordlessly, Reinhardt reached past her to open the message attached to the Recall notice.

The two of them read in silence for a moment.

Reinhardt had started to grin. Then he chuckled. Then, he finally laughed; a great, booming noise that filled the van and possibly all of Greenland. He felt lighter than he had for years, like he finally had a hope of making up for all his past mistakes. This time, he’d do better.

“We’re back in the fight, my dear!”

 

 

 


End file.
